


L'appel du vide

by wilwarindi



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders-centric, Angst, Background Relationships, Gen, Hubris, Intrusive Thoughts, Justice is an obsession, Non-Graphic Violence, Not A Fix-It, Set after A New Path (Merrill's companion quest), Set during Act 3 of DA2, last chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilwarindi/pseuds/wilwarindi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is jealous, Anders is lonely, Anders is sad. Anders pushed people away. Anders hates himself more than anyone. Anders has a voice in his head that is slowly driving him crazy. Anders is tired. Anders has been pushed into a corner, Anders has pushed himself into a corner.  Anders wants justice but he also mostly wants out.</p><p>In which Anders is offered a last chance (and doesn’t take it), and Merrill gets punched in the face and asked about restitution.</p><p>Or: About the inevitability of the fall and the possibility of atonement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'appel du vide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders gets an unexpected visit, accidental closure and the onset of a last chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my lovely friend Allergic (no, really) who volunteered to beta this fic, even though she hasn't played the game. Somehow. I'm trying to convince her.
> 
> Small warning for brief mention of non-consented drug use. Kind of.

_"My mother often said that things are the way they are because they couldn't have been any other way."  
_ (Morrigan, during DA:O’s quest ‘ _The Broken Circle_ ’)

-

_‘This is useless.’_

Anders pressed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was past the point of exhaustion, he ached all over for standing all day and using more magic than was by any accounts healthy, not to mention he wasn’t really sure how many times he had eaten - although he was sure it hadn’t been more than twice. But as soon as he had closed his clinic for day and there was finally blessed silence, his treacherous mind, lulled by the hours and hours of work, begun its ceaseless grinding and buzzing; thoughts he mostly kept in check during the day bubbling to the surface with a renewed energy.

_‘This is useless.’_

Anders let out an angry sigh and got up from his desk where he had intended to do some writing. It was one of those nights again, it seemed. He dragged his feet into his small private quarters, a little more than a cupboard in which he had managed to stuff a bed and a few chests with his scant personal belongings, rummaged around for something to help him subdue his overactive brain into a more functional state.

He needed those more and more lately; as the conflict between mages and templars worsened, Justice bristled inside him, pushing harder and harder for Anders to do something, _anything_. It had only gotten worse after he had come up with a plan to force the slow-brewing conflict out into the open. Since he had, Justice could not wait to set things in motion.

_‘This is useless!’_

“I know!” Anders exclaimed. He closed his fist and brought it down on the frame of his bed. The pain helped him focus, but not for long.

 _I know it is_ , he thought. _But it will be soon. It's not yet the right time-_

_‘Useless! It is past time this wrong is made right! Hawke has always been a hindrance. There was never any need to get his help.’_

Anders grit his teeth. That was an argument he was tired of having, especially since it never got anywhere. Justice was unrelenting, uncaring.

_‘Useless.’_

_Yes_ , _Hawke won’t help. I’ll just do it myself. Just not now._

_‘Now.’_

_No, not now,_ Anders countered. _I need better preparation, a better plan. This needs to be done right._

_‘Now.’_

“No,” Anders muttered out loud.

_‘You are useless.’_

_I know,_ Anders thought dejectedly.

_‘Useless.’_

“I know,” he said out loud.

Anders tried to ignore the vicious thoughts, let them drift away without trying to catch them as well as the wave of self-loathing that stemmed from them. Yes, he was useless, he could never accomplish any of the goals he set out for himself. He had tried to move the mountain one rock at a time and had gotten nowhere; he was tired of dealing with desperate blood mages and vicious templars one by one and achieve nothing but more death and abuse and a few spared lives in exile.

_‘This needs to end.’_

He was tired of being angry and outraged and appalled. He was tired of caring. But most of all he was tired of fighting. Fighting against the tide, fighting against the entire world. Shouting until his throat was raw and having his cries fall on deaf ears. Fighting the way Justice meddled in everything he did and didn't do.

_‘Soon. This needs to end. It needs to end.’_

It did. Anders might have failed at every single thing he had tried to do in his life, but he wouldn’t fail at this; he would not let the growing momentum of the mages’ outrage and demands of justice be smothered by a new wave of templar repression, or be lulled into complacency and swept under the rug by a lack of response from the Chantry and the mages’ own varying opinions about the conflict slowly dissolving the main dispute into a thousand smaller ones.

Anders had read and lived long enough to know that it would probably go any of those ways. And it couldn’t. Not again.

Not while he lived.

‘ _It must end.’_

But not right now, either. The moment needed to be the right one, or else all of Anders’ work might go to waste and all the lives it would cost would be ended for nothing - or so he told himself. And Anders might be good at self-deception, but even he had to admit the reason he was stalling had a lot more to do with the fact that he wasn’t yet ready to break Hawke’s trust in him. And his friends’ trust in him. They would hate him and Anders couldn’t blame them. He hated it. He hated that it was all up for him to do, that no one would come and take the fuse from his hands and light it.

And yet he wouldn’t give the responsibility to anyone else, even if he could. He would be executed for this and Anders would never sacrifice any life but his own in such a way.

_‘It must end.’_

It all had to end. The abuse, the Chantry’s disdain for magic, the fear, the isolation, the noise, the anger, the tiredness, the hiding, the running for his life. The loneliness.

Anders rubbed his forehead and uncorked the bottle of the soothing potion he had dug out of one of his chests, but he stopped before lifting it to his mouth when he felt it.

The Taint.

In the middle of Kirkwall that could only mean one thing: Grey Wardens. Well, that or another Blight was incoming and Anders could not be _that_ unlucky. Right?

He went very still, hoping against all possibility that the Wardens weren’t coming closer to him. Not right now, not when he had a defined plan to execute. But of course ( _of course_ ) they were.

Anders dived into the main room of his clinic to get his staff and had just summoned a protection spell when there was a knock on his door. Anders stared at it, wondering if he should approach it or simply wait until they broke in. He knew they must feel his own presence as he felt theirs.

After a few moments of silence one of the doors pushed open and Anders realized belatedly that he had not yet locked them for the night, as he was still up and about.

“Anders?” called the man entering the room, his right hand hovering over a knife at his waist.

Anders grit his teeth and raised his staff. “What do you-!” He demanded, before recognizing who he was addressing.

Nathaniel looked at him in surprise and a moment later he lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just me, Anders.”

Anders scowled. He had thought Nathaniel had left Kirkwall with his sister weeks ago, after being rescued from the blighted Deep Roads. That he was back was not a good sign. Nate stood straight and alert, and even if his hands were in the air Anders had been in enough fights in his life to recognize a non-friendly visit, even if it was not yet a direct threat.

 _‘He cannot interfere_.’

“What are you doing here?” Anders asked warily, without changing his defensive stance. All his tiredness evaporated as he scanned the room around them, assessing his chances and the best way out. When he heard the telltale clicking sounds of armor Anders felt color leaving his face.

 _‘Templars. Traitor!_ ’

This was too familiar: Wardens and templars joining forces to ambush him, to kill him. Fear crept up Anders' spine.

Bodies, torn apart and scorched beyond recognition, molten metal eating away at the templar’s face, Justice raging, demanding the death of every templar, every last one of them.

_Not again, not again._

' _They will not kill us! They cannot stop us!_ '

Anders took a step towards Nathaniel, his whole body trembling.

“What have you _done_?” Anders spat, gripping his staff viciously until his knuckles were white. “You brought _templars_ with you!”

Nathaniel moved towards him and Anders stepped back quickly. Nate put his hands up again.

“No templars. I am not here to hurt you. Or do anything to you,” he said sounding too calm, too reasonable.

‘ _Lies! Treason!_ ’

Anders ignored Nate and Justices’ furious thrashing in his mind and tried to determine how many people he could hear behind on the outside of his clinic, how much mana he had left, how quickly he could cast a spell that allowed him to escape an ambush and dive into the passage that lead to Hawke’s home.

“There are three of us,” Nate was saying, still sounding like he was talking to a spooked horse. “And we are not here to convince you to go back to the Wardens. I promise.”

‘ _He will stop us. He must not interfere._ ’

Anders frowned, Nathaniel’s words and Justice’s cries were mixing together to the point he couldn’t fully understand either of them. Nathaniel’s expression was serious but calm and it was the only thing that kept Anders from throwing a fireball at him and making a run for it.

“What?” He asked, blinking furiously and trying to focus and push back the panic he felt rising from his chest. He needed to keep a clear head this time.

“There are three of us,” Nathaniel repeated, slowly and clearly. “We need information, thought you could help. That is all. And to say ‘hi’ of course. I promise.”

Say ‘hi’? Say ‘hi’ to whom? Was Velanna there? Anders repressed a shudder, the elf had always managed to set his teeth on edge, even if they had managed to work together when they had to. Or maybe Sigrun? That seemed unlikely, but if she was still alive, if they had managed to keep her from wandering into the deep roads again and rejoining her foolish Legion of the Dead…

Anders peered at the darkness behind Nate’s back. “Alright. Come on in,” he agreed. It was not as if he had a choice, he figured. They would come in if they wanted to.

Nathaniel gave small nod and slowly stepped into the main room of the clinic. Anders readjusted his stance in case he was lying and templars came running inside after him.

There were no templars; and neither Velanna nor Sigrun came in. Instead a blonde man followed Nathaniel, his hands also raised and a friendly smile on his face that did nothing to assuage Anders’ misgivings; if anything it made Anders more wary.

“Ah, there you are! Anders, right?” The man said cheerfully. He approached Anders decisively, but stopped several feet away. Probably a good decision. “I’m Alistair.” There was a brief pause. “I think we’ve met before. You were there for the qunari attack, right? With Bethany’s brother?”

Anders blinked, stunned. He had not placed the familiar face yet (he had never been good with faces and his work as a healer meant he saw hundreds of them every week), but the sound of the man’s voice and the name were enough to bring back the memories with a stark clarity.

Alistair, the qunari attack. Right, yes, he was leading the Grey Wardens that they encountered running around Kirkwall in one mission or another. They hadn't exchanged more than a few passing words that day - there were too many things happening at once and the more urgent mission of stopping the Arishok’s warriors from slaughtering every citizen of Kirkwall - but Anders remembered the encounter because, even if he had seen no recognition from Alistair, Anders was hit by memories of meeting him back in Vigil’s Keep.

_The Satinalia celebration after the defeat of the Architect and the Mother. Most of the damage done to the Keep has been repaired, which wasn’t as extensive as everyone expected thanks to the precautions taken by the Warden-Commander, as Garevel keeps reminding everyone. Voldrik, that damn dwarf, never stopping his loudly boasting and patting himself in the back for how well his walls had endured the attack. Sigrun teasing him as always. Alistair, arrived only a couple of days before, glued to the Commander’s side with adoration in his eyes; Lyna’s gaze unexpectedly tender on Alistair’s face. Sigrun snickering, nudging Anders, cooing and telling him he should brighten up a little, saying that he looks like petulant child (which is rich coming from her, in his opinion), that he should just give the guy a chance because he is actually quite nice and the Commander seems so happy with him finally here..._

Anders forcibly got his mind off that memory. It had been years, seven years and it didn’t matter anymore. It seemed like a different life altogether now - he had been different back then. He had been stupid, he knew that at the time; especially since he was too old to be acting like that, to be so obvious and resentful. But Anders had never been known to act as he was supposed to anyway, and even if the bite of jealousy was hardly new everything else around him was.

He had still been adjusting to being _finally_ free the Circle and to being part of the Grey Wardens, which wasn’t how he had planned on getting his freedom, but he guessed he could have had it worse. At least the people were generally friendly, Anders could go outside, drink, and shoot lightning at fools (well, mostly Dark Spawn, but still); and he could make real use of his healer training and flirt and sleep with whomever he chose - all improvements.

Still, the weight of it all, the changes and his own uncertainty about his place, wondering if it was all he could have, if it was all he _should_ have, his feet itching to get away, it had all added up and made him act like a fool.

But of course, whatever good there was soon ended when Roland, the supposed _former_ templar, appeared and later forced Anders to give up his cat. Not to mention he later called Anders an abomination and tried to kill him, driving Anders to escape Ferelden and the Wardens.

‘ _Traitors, all of them!_ ’

Anders had been stupid about so many things, but had learnt his lesson. About the Wardens, about what he could do with his own freedom and skills and a cause.

“Yes, I think we did. In Vigil’s Keep, in fact,” Anders replied a little stiffly.

Alistair turned his head to one side with a thoughtful expression. “Yes. I didn’t really remember, but seeing you now... Yes, we did.” He nodded and then chuckled. “You almost got your head ripped off by Velanna when you tried to kiss her under a mistletoe.”

Anders grimaced. Oh, right. That was one of those things he tried very, _very_ hard to forget. He had been very drunk, very angry and very determined to act stupid. And of course, that was all Alistair could remember about him.

Someone cleared their throat, pulling Anders from his thoughts again, and he looked around to find he had missed the third Warden joining them. A much familiar face welcomed him, and Anders sucked in a breath.

“You know, for a man who is supposed to be on the run, you’re not very hard to find,” Lyna said with a tight smile, trying a little too hard to seem nonchalant.

Anders jaw fell and his thoughts scattered in all directions. Of all the people he had expected to see Lyna Mahariel, the Warden-Commander and Hero of Ferelden, was not one of them. Anders felt himself swaying and gripped his staff for support.

 _"The Wardens agreed we can't harbor an abomination_. _” Roland said._

‘ _Traitors, all of them!_ ’

“You…” Anders gasped.

Alistair snorted, crossing his arms. “Nice one. Been planning on that for a while, dear?” He asked Lyna who grinned a little awkwardly and shrugged.

None of those words made any sense to Anders.

“You,” he repeated, swallowing hard and making his best effort to pull himself together. “Come to finish the job? Nathaniel ratted me out?” He asked, his voice growing steadier as his anger started to settle like a heavy weight on his stomach.

Lyna blinked, looking honestly surprised and confused. “Uh - No...? What are you talking about?” She asked slowly, frowning.

“I - Ratted you out?” Nate exclaimed. “How?”

‘ _Traitors! They want to kill us! They want to stop us!_ ’

Anders scowled at him and pointed his staff in his direction. “You told her where I am! Where to find me!”

Alistair held up his hands to get his attention. “Uh… No offense, but in case you've forgotten, you met Stroud here some years back, remember? _We’ve_ known you’re in Kirkwall for years,” he pointed out, moving between Anders and Lyna. “So whatever you think, we’re not here to bring you back…”

Anders could feel the familiar prickling under his skin, a prickling he was more used to these days than he’d ever admit to anyone.

“Lies!” They shouted, knowing that their eyes had started glowing and their voice was changing. They half noticed how Alistair was backing off a few steps before turning to Lyna. “You _betrayed_ us! You had them kill us!”

Lyna grabbed her shield and reached for her sword, but didn’t draw - not yet. “I have no idea what…”

“Lies!” vengeance shouted again and their focus slipped even further, rage filling their every vein and artery, pulsing through them. “You sent _templars_ after us! Wardens! You…” Vengeance roared wordlessly before lifting their hands, gathering their mana… only to find it bleeding out of them in a terrifyingly familiar way. Vengeance looked around furiously and caught sight of Alistair, visibly straining to cast and maintain his Burning Mana ability.

“ _Templar_! _”_ Vengeance spat. Alistair shivered and tried to move back, but could only take a few steps without breaking his focus.

“No! Hey! It’s me you have a quarrel with!” Lyna shouted, drawing her sword and stepping in Vengeance’s way. “I did _not_ betray you, Anders! Look at me! _Look at me_!”

Vengeance turned to face her and Lyna put up her shield. “Anders, I don’t know what you mean, but I never did anything to hurt you,” she said firmly, and Vengeance wasn’t really listening, but also couldn’t gather enough mana to strike her. “Anders, stop this,” Lyna ordered and a small part of Anders shrunk in reflex at her commanding tone.

Anders had never been good at following orders, even before he was brought into the Circle - and once in Kinloch Hold he had only gotten more rebellious, much to the irritation of the templars and the dismay the First Enchanter. But after his sixth escape attempt and a year in solitary confinement, something had cracked inside him; even if he still wanted to escape there was a debilitating shard of fear firmly lodged inside him that mostly manifested when he was addressed in that same voice, a fear that had taken him years to shake off.

And perhaps he would never be able to shake it off completely; even after so long, even if the majority of him reacted in rage a second later and moved to physically shove Lyna off her feet. Or try to.

Something hit Vengeance’s head. They lost their balance and the world dimmed to a faded grey. Vengeance tried to look up but they were hit again and this time they crumbled to the ground.

* * *

 

The dull throb of pain at the back of his head welcomed Anders back to consciousness. He groaned and lifted his hand to touch it, not surprised when he found a growing bump and a small gash that was still bleeding profusely.

“Ugh, shit…” he mumbled, sitting up and running a quick mental scan of his body to check if there were more injuries. He rolled his shoulders and found the left one to be a little sore, but that was it. So far, so good; he had woken up in worst states before.

Then Anders remembered what had happened and looked around. He had been laid down in one of the cots in his clinic, which was a nice touch. At the foot of his bed he found an angry Nathaniel glaring him down with his arms crossed. As always, he was the picture of a disapproving father.

Some things never changed.

Alistair was sitting at Anders’ desk, looking vaguely pale and sickly, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. Lyna had a hand rubbing small circles in his arm and was talking to him, the words too quiet for Anders to hear.

 _Pain. Sweating. Probably nauseous_ , Anders’ healer training immediately supplied. He moved to stand and help before he knew it and got a stab of pain for his trouble that made him hiss loudly and clutch at his head.

“Sit down!” Nathaniel commanded. From her corner, Lyna looked up. “No sudden movements.”

Anders grimaced and looked at his fingers, stained in blood from his head wound. “You hit me?” He asked a little unnecessarily. Anders focused to heal himself, but found no trace of mana. His heart skipped a beat and a sudden horror wrapped itself around his throat.

Anders brought his knees up to his chest in reflex before noticing the telltale tingle in his lips and the numbness in his fingers. He knew the signs too well.

“You gave me _magebane_?!” He cried in outrage. “How _dare_ you!”

It was like the Circle again. Templars forcing magebane down his throat so he was left defenseless, before locking him in solitary, before taking them to the outside to exercise, as punishment for whatever rule he had broken. Anders bodily resisted at first, before he noticed how much it pleased some templars to have yet another excuse to manhandle him and one of them loosened one of Anders teeth in the process. After that he took it under protest, but before the templars got as fed up with him as to lay hands on him again.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” Nate huffed. “What the hell was that?”

Anders scowl deepened. “I don’t owe you any kind of explanation. You _drugged_ me.”

Nathaniel glared back. “That was only to stop you from lighting up like that again! You attacked us!” Nathaniel shook his head. “I saw you do that before, in the Deep Roads, but you didn’t attack those around you.”

Right, the Deep Roads again. When they’d met there a few weeks back, Nathaniel had asked about it and Anders had evaded his questions the best he could. Luckily Nate hadn’t pushed too hard. But Anders knew he wasn’t getting away that easy now.

Lyna had left Alistair’s side and she stopped by Nathaniel’s side. She handed Anders a clean bandage and gestured to his head. Her expression was deadly serious. “How did I betray you?” She asked, as direct as always. “Because I don’t remember ever doing that.”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up, and the shame for losing control so easily evaporated in favor of a renewed wave of anger. He quickly grabbed the offered bandage, pressed it gingerly to his head wound and clenched his teeth at the pain.

“You don’t? That's’ nice. Because I do. I very much do,” he sneered.

“ _How_?” Lyna said, lifting and dropping her arms in a show of utter confusion.

_"The Wardens agreed we can't harbor an abomination," he is saying, nasal voice vibrating with smug satisfaction._

Anders frowned, the old anger and pain resurfacing almost intact. He fought to keep it in check, lest he let Justice out again - he wasn’t too sure they wouldn’t kill him this time if he did. Then he remembered the magebane that was blocking his magic and the spirit from the Fade from manifesting and scoffed to himself.

“You sold me out to the templars,” Anders replied. “You had Roland follow me around and call the templars on me. They ambushed me on the way to Amaranthine, remember? Three templars and half a dozen Wardens.”

Lyna’s frown deepened. “I - What? What are you talking about?” She shook her head. “You - You remember me fighting to keep Roland away from you, right? You remember me _killing_ a templar for you, don’t you?”

“That was before!”

“Before what?” Lyna asked. There was a pause. “You were my friend!”

Anders shut his mouth at that. He had wanted to believe that, he had desperately wanted to believe he was friends with her; not the Hero of Ferelden, the Warden-Commander, friends with Lyna Mahariel, clanless Dalish elven woman, singled out as both great and dangerous, who groaned and scowled at being paraded before the nobles, forever a stranger in a human world, impatient and tactless, ridiculously stoic most of the time and sometimes prone to fits of giggles at the weirdest things, the woman who gave him Ser Pounce-a-lot with a knowing smile.

And then Justice and Roland had happened.

“If I was, then why would you have me killed?” Anders said, hating the feeling of betrayal that was clear in his voice.

He was over the pain. He was angry, not hurt. He was.

Lyna just stared at him helplessly for a moment. “I never did. I never would have.” She said simply, and by Andrastes’ nickers but Anders wanted to believe her. He fought that impulse. “What made you think I did?”

Anders stared back at her. She seemed pained but otherwise calm, not at all like someone caught in a lie. She could lie like a champion, no doubt, but her lies never looked like this.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it myself,” Lyna said matter-of-factly as she crossed her arms, her eyes never leaving his. “I’ve known where you were for years, and I never came for you. And I’m not here for you now.”

Anders looked away, grimacing. He didn’t want to, but he believed her; if anything, he believed she would have tried to kill him herself instead of sending Roland and the templars. Friends or not, she would have come after him herself, that much was true. Roland had never mentioned her by name, but Anders knew... he knew the Wardens would never dare touch one of the Hero of Ferelden’s companions without her knowledge. They wouldn’t. It didn’t make sense, unless they wanted to be skinned alive.

“Anders,” Lyna called, but he refused to look up. She reached out and carefully touched his foot. “I am sorry. I didn’t know. I went away too soon and I thought... I didn’t know Roland had called the templars, but I would have stopped him if I had been there. I would never had agreed to that.”

“You idiot,” Nathaniel interjected, but his tone was mostly fond. “Is _that_ why you ran away?”

Anders frowned. Nate made it sound like he was a child, like he had acted on a whim or a tantrum. “No, that’s not why. They would have kept coming, kept trying to kill me. And my time with the Wardens was done, anyway. I had no place there anymore.”

Lyna’s mouth twisted disapprovingly, and Maker’s breath, Anders hadn’t missed the way she could make him feel like a scolded child. It didn’t make any sense that she would, but she always had.

She had always been better at being an adult than he was, it seemed, a fact that Anders found he still resented.

He stood up and opened his mouth again, annoyed, but before he could protest Alistair spoke from where he was seated, sounding a little hoarse but not in so much pain anymore. “Does the..." He made a vague gesture "The glowy thing have anything to do with it, then? Or could you do that before?”

Anders stammered a little. Lyna shot a questioning look at Alistair who nodded before standing and walking towards the group.

“You never mentioned the glowy thing,” Alistair said to Lyna who shook her head. “Seems like a thing worth mentioning.”

“I…” Anders hesitated. Three pairs of eyes fixed on him and Anders backed away a few steps and looked around for a way out.

He did not want to explain, he never wanted to explain. His and Justice existence was strange enough as it was, not to mention it made almost every single person call him an abomination - some of those people never _stopped_ calling him that, as a matter of fact.

The magebane was still running through his system. Anders had no magic and could not tap into the Fade or feel Justice inside him. Even his staff was in the other side of the clinic. It all made him feel all the more cornered.

Lyna held out her hands, clearly sensing his distress. “We won’t hurt you, Anders. You have my word.”

Anders made a disbelieving sound and pointed at Alistair. “He was a templar.”

“I am not a templar and never was. I never took any vows,” Alistair replied, rolling his eyes a little. Evidently, he had to explain this a lot. “I was trained but never served. I have nothing against you for being an apostate.”

“So if you were templar you’d try to kill me?” Anders asked, crossing his arms defiantly.

Alistair scoffed and shook his head. “Look, I’ve fought alongside too many apostates to do that. One of them helped us stop the Blight. Probably my _least_ favorite person in the entire world, but I respect her.” Lyna gave him a strange look and a tiny smile, her hand closing briefly around his wrist.

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose. That was - that was just great. How many times had he reminded people, sometimes to the point of annoying them, of the fact that an apostate had been instrumental to defeating the Blight? Now it was being used against him by none other than one of the Wardens that had been there to stop the Blight. That was just his luck.

Anders rocked on the balls of his feet, still very much uncomfortable and thinking of ways to avoid this conversation.

“Alright. Anders, look, you don’t need to tell us anything if you don’t want to...” Lyna begun, but was interrupted by the clinic door all but exploding out of its hinges.

All of them turned to look in alarm, hand flying to their weapons. Anders’ hand itched for his staff and cursed again that one of Wardens had put it far away from his reach. He had enough time to see what he immediately recognized as a smoke grenade similar to the ones used by Hawke roll to the middle of the room before it went off and a dark cloud enveloped his clinic.

Anders tried to reach for his magic again, but to no avail and let out a frustrated growl followed by a cough. He hated smoke grenades.

“Anders!” came a familiar voice from behind the smoke. “Are you alright?”

Anders coughed again. “Hawke?” He asked dumbly, cursing the smoke and his inability to use magic to lift it out of the way.

“Where are you?” Hawke demanded. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m behind the - the cloud of smoke you just threw, you idiot,” Anders rasped irritably, waving furiously to clear the air in front of him.

“Drop your weapons. _Now_ ,” a nasal, raspy voice ordered and Anders rolled his eyes.

 _Of course_ Hawke had brought Fenris. They were hardly ever seen without the other lately. It was really annoying.

The smoke was clearing now and Anders could see Hawke, Fenris, Varric and Isabela standing at the entrance of the clinic, their weapons up and trained at the group of Wardens.

“There is really no need for this,” Alistair said with a smile that didn’t really reached his eyes. He his sword was in his hand, but he hadn’t lifted it. “Perhaps you remember me? I'm Alistair? I was with your sister when the qunari attacked?”

Hawke blinked. He looked at Anders for a moment, evaluating his state and Anders gave him a small smile. He had long ago learnt that Hawke worried about all of his friends like a mother bear, and that never failed to warm his heart; even if it wasn’t ever the kind of concerned Anders would have wanted.

Then Hawke lowered his knives. “Yes I remember you. How is Bethany?” He asked casually, as if this was no more than a social call and there weren’t arrows, bolts and blades pointed at people all around the room.

“She was doing fine, last I saw her,” Alistair replied just as easily. “She has made a lot of new friends. She’s quite popular.”

Isabela suddenly let out gasp, elbowing past Fenris who glowered at her. “Wait, I remember you! And you! The Hero of Ferelden!” She grinned and winked at Lyna. “It’s been a while.”

Alistair frowned for a moment, before a look of recognition crossed his face which then turned a quite impressive shade of red.

“Uh… yeah. Hi?” He said hesitantly, obviously mortified.

There was a short silence.

Anders groaned out loud. “Seriously?” He said to himself, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

Had Isabela honestly bedded half of the people they met? Had she bedded most of the people Anders had wanted as well?

Varric snorted.

“Yeah, small world,” Lyna said dryly. She looked mostly unfazed, but Anders saw the tips of her ears blushing.  “Creators, I hate that title.”

“Wait, did you…three?” Varric asked, sounding way too amused for Anders comfort, and he wasn’t the one being talked about.

Alistair let out a short laugh that sounded almost hysterical. “Uh, _no_. And that’s - that’s really not important right now.”

“Oh, so there _are_ people who can resist your charms?” Hawke asked Isabela, his eyes glinting mischievously. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Isabela shrugged, unconcerned. "Well, I can't win _all_ the time, now can I?"

Nathaniel made a helpless little sound, understanding dawning in his face. He covered his eyes with his hand, muttering to himself, apparently in utter dismay. The sight was unexpectedly familiar and Anders found himself grinning.

Lyna sheathed her sword loudly and cleared her throat. “So, I take it you’re the Champion of Kirkwall?” She asked, forcibly changing the subject.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her then bowed. “The Hero of Ferelden. I am honored,” he smirked. “And I can’t say I like my title much, either. _Champion of Kirkwall;_ it’s rather a mouthful, isn’t it?”

Lyna stared at him for a moment, carefully sizing Hawke up. It was a look Anders remembered well. Then her mouth quirked up a tiny bit. “Indeed. And you can call me Mahariel.”

“Then you can call me Hawke,” Garrett replied, bowing his head graciously. He clapped his hands together. “So, I take it you were _not_ trying to kidnap Anders here?”

Anders huffed and crossed his arms but no one paid any attention to him.

Lyna nodded. “We were not. We came here to ask for information, but we seemed to - uh… have gotten off on a tangent,” she said arching an eyebrow at Anders.

The mage huffed again. “Right. A tangent.”

“I just wanted to see you,” Lyna pointed out coolly. “I didn’t think we’d have a problem.”

Anders frowned and she gave him a level look. “ _You_ attacked _us_ ,” Lyna reminded him quietly.

Anders looked away. That much was true. He had lost control too quickly for his comfort, a fact he didn’t want to think about right now, and they had done nothing to harm him in the first place.

“So… you’re old friends too?” Varric ventured. “Am I the only one who didn’t know anybody who fought against an archdemon?”

Fenris rolled his eyes and put away his sword. “You and me both,” he muttered.

“We are not -” Anders begun almost on reflex, but hesitated. For years he had thought Lyna had agreed with Roland and the templars. He had assumed it was true. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. “We knew each other,” he finished awkwardly.

Lyna crossed her arms. “We actually were told we should contact you, Hawke, but decided to stop here first. Thought Anders could introduce us.”

“Why contact me?” Hawke asked curiously.

Lyna’s face hardened. Her whole demeanor changed subtly but it still sent a warning chill down Anders' spine. “According to a friend of ours you work with a fellow Dalish elf: Merrill, from clan Sabrae.”

Hawke’s eyes widened in surprise.

There was a long, heavy silence.

“Oh, that's just _great_ ,” Varric muttered.

Hawke pursed his lips in a determined expression. “Ah, of course. You are _that_ Mahariel.”

“I am.”

Fenris and Isabela seemed almost as lost as Anders himself felt.

“Why are you looking for her?” Hawke asked cautiously.

The sudden tension in the room was almost palpable.

Lyna took a deep breath, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword before staring at Hawke straight in the eyes. Alistair and Nathaniel tensed beside her. “I believe she will know why my _entire_ clan was slaughtered. Every single member. By _your_ hand, according to some,” Lyna said her voice wavering slightly in cold rage.

Anders gaped in horror. “You _what_?” He yelped, not sure if his question was aimed at either Lyna or Hawke.

Isabela glanced uncertainly at Hawke. Varric gripped Bianca tighter, a grim expression on his face, but he didn’t seem surprised by the accusation. Fenris scowled at the Wardens and drew his longsword again, stepping closer to Hawke.

Then, no one moved a finger.

“Hawke?” Anders broke the silence, uncertain. “Hawke, what…?” Anders trailed off, not sure what he wanted to ask. _Is it true? Of course it isn’t true, right? Why would anyone say something like that?_

Hawke met his eyes briefly and Anders’ stomach dropped. There was shame and guilt in Hawke’s expression, and also harsh determination.

“Are you here to hurt her?” Hawke asked Lyna who narrowed her eyes.

“I am here,” she replied, her voice clipped, “to get answers.”

“Will you hurt her?” Hawke insisted.

Lyna’s eyes shone with fury for a moment and she bared her teeth in a feral expression. Alistair glanced at her with a worried expression.

“Lyna,” he called quietly.

That’s all it took. Lyna deflated, her shoulders dropping in an exhausted expression.

She was quiet for a long moment. “No, I will not kill her. What good would that do?” She replied bitterly, glaring at the ground. “But my clan is dead and she is responsible. I need to know why.”

Hawke look at her dubiously, but slowly lowered his weapons. “It was an accident. They attacked _us_ ,” he said in a low voice.

Lyna’s eyes snapped up to his.

“How do you _accidentally_ kill all those people?” Nathaniel asked incredulously, stealing the words from Anders’ lips.

Hawke hesitated, then sheathed his knives. “They attacked her. We defended her. We tried talking to them - telling them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen,” Hawke’s voice broke. He pinched his nose. “I - I didn’t want any of that to happen, and neither did she. We tried to talk them down, I swear.”

Anders closed his eyes. The tale was too familiar. All those dead bodies at his feet, slain by his hand. Too many, so many bodies, more that he was aware were there. The stench of blood and gore clinging to his skin for weeks, no matter how many times he bathed and how hard he scrubbed.

Anders felt sick.

“Is that your excuse?” Lyna sneered.

“It is what happened. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I _had to_ defend my friend,” Hawke replied tiredly.

Lyna closed her eyes briefly, her expression pained. “That was my _family_ ,” she said. “My _entire family_.”

Hawke bowed his head. “I know. I - I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”

Lyna snorted, but didn’t say anything. Alistair put a hand on her shoulder and she let out a deep sigh.

“Will you take us to her?” Alistair asked.

Varric shot Hawke a worried glance. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. No offense,” the dwarf replied.

“The Commander just said she won’t hurt this girl,” Nate said primly

“Yeah, no offense, kid, but that’s not as reassuring as you seem to think,” Varric countered. “I won’t take anyone’s word at face value that they will not kill someone, not even the Hero of Ferelden’s.”

“You - you _dare_ …” Nate begun, wagging a finger at a very unimpressed Varric.

“ _Nate._ Don’t,” Lyna called impatiently. She turned to Hawke again. “I just want to talk to her. You can be there too, if you prefer.” Lyna sheathed her sword. “I’ve known Merrill since we were children. She was once a friend and she is a member of my clan. The last of my clan. I need to hear her reasons and I need to know that she regrets this. And what she means to do to repair the damage she has done.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Hawke repeated, but his voice lacked conviction. He sounded more pleading than certain.

“Hawke,” Fenris warned him, frowning. “You can’t…”

“Broody, stop. Later.” Varric interrupted him.

Fenris stared at Hawke for a moment before putting away his sword again with a huff. He crossed his arms, clearly objecting but willing to let it go for the moment.

Anders could certainly agree with the elf, for once. He didn’t know anything about the Dalish clan massacre, but if it was true, if they had tried to kill Merrill and Hawke had defended her, then he had a pretty good idea of the reason and he disapproved probably almost as much as Fenris did: Merrill’s use of blood magic had cost her clan their lives and Hawke was trying, once again, to protect her from the fallout.

And while the naïve elf might not deserve to die, she deserved to deal with the consequences of her actions.

Anders hadn’t heard a word of this before now, and it seemed he was the only one who didn’t - and maybe Isabela, by the look on her face. He didn’t know when this had happened and couldn’t really guess; Anders hadn’t spent as much time with Hawke and the rest of his friends as he once did. His work in the clinic, smuggling mages and writing manifestos was surprisingly time consuming - at least that’s what he had gotten used to tell Hawke when he came to invite Anders to some new adventure, only Anders had done all those things before and managed to hang out with his friends anyway.

If Hawke suspected something was up, he never said, he never pushed. Eventually he had stopped asking as often; which was sad, but Anders knew he deserved it. He thought it shouldn’t surprise him as much that they had kept something like this from him, something so terrible, but it did. He felt betrayed and forgotten. There had been a time when he has been the one spending the most time with Hawke, when he had been the most privy to his life and thoughts. But that was no longer the case, not for years now.

Not since Hawke and Fenris had first gotten involved, a fact that Anders could not get past even if there had never been anything between Hawke and himself.

Anders rubbed his forehead. He could feel a bad headache coming.

“Will you take me to her?” Lyna asked.

“You can meet in my house,” Hawke replied combing his fingers through his wild hair. “If she agrees.”

“Alright. Tomorrow at noon,” Lyna agreed. “Where is your house?”

Hawke stared giving directions and Anders tuned out of it, finally crossing the room to grab his staff, its familiar weight comforting. He sighed deeply, the exhaustion catching up with him again.

“You OK there, Blondie?” Varric asked next to his elbow, startling Anders.

“What? Yeah, yeah,” the mage replied distractedly. He rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a long night.”

Varric snorted. “Yeah, I bet.” He shook his head. “So, you knew the Hero of Ferelden?”

Anders rolled his eyes and turned to look at him. “Yes, I did. She recruited me, in fact”.

“And you never thought of mentioning it? Bragging a little? Sharing some tales?” Varric teased.

Anders shook his head. “Nothing to tell. She recruited me. We fought darkspawn. In the blighted _Deep Roads_. That’s it,” he answered curtly, wishing they all left and gave him some quiet to think and _sleep_.

“Aw, come one, Blondie, don’t be a spoilsport,” Varric probed. “Something interesting must have happened at _some_ point. How long were you a Warden, anyway?”

Anders hesitated. He had avoided talking about his time as a Warden as much as possible, with everybody except Hawke - and even with him Anders had never gone into much detail. His memories about it were more sour than anything, especially the circumstances of his leaving, the betrayal and horror at his own actions too great to easily put into words. Anders had hoped one day he could talk to Hawke about it, if they ever got close enough.

But of course, that never happened.

And what Lyna had said now, about how she hadn’t known that Roland called the templars, that she never agreed to it… Anders thought he believed her, and that meant rewriting the whole event in his mind, something that would take time and more energy than what he had at the moment. Maybe he hadn’t been betrayed by her, and Anders wasn’t sure how that made him feel after years of believing she had.

“A couple months, I think,” Anders finally replied. He focused his gaze in the other side of the room to keep his expression as disinterested as possible. “There was darkspawn. And then more darkspawn in the Deep Roads. And then darkspawn in Vigil’s Keep. The most exciting was killing broodmothers, which wasn’t fun at all.” Anders shrugged.

Varric eyed him distrustfully.

“Right. So you never talked to the woman at all, in those months,” the dwarf said with a smirk.

“Look, Varric, I have nothing to tell you and I am exhausted,” Anders sighed and made a vague hand gesture. “I’d appreciate if you'd all just... leave.”

“Well, alright. Sorry for coming to help when we heard you might be in trouble,” Varric said. He was teasing but he still sounded a more distant than he would have a few months back, Anders thought. He understood why, but the thought still made him feel like an utter ass.

Varric had always been a good friend, and he deserved better.

“Wait. I didn’t mean it like that!” Anders said. He shrugged helplessly. “Just… tired.”

Varric chuckled. “I know Blondie, I know.”

“Thank you for, er, trying to rescue me,” Anders offered with a smile. “I appreciate the thought.”

“Just glad it was a false alarm this time.” Varric pointed out.

* * *

 

Some minutes later Anders sat on an empty cot waiting for the crowd to leave his clinic.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my house?” Hawke asked for the third or fourth time. “We kind of… broke your door.”

“You blew it up, and yes,” Anders sniffed. “I don’t want to walk all the way to Hightown, I just want to sleep.”

“But…”

“I’ll throw all of you out and conjure up a giant boulder to block the entrance. How’s that?” Anders retorted, exasperated. Not that he actually could without magic, he remembered a second later, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Hawke.

Hawke grinned and Anders couldn’t help to grin right back at him, a warm feeling pooling in his stomach. Hawke’s smiles were always contagious, and as much as Anders huffed at being fussed over, he loved the attention. Mostly because it was _Hawke’s_ attention.

He hadn’t gotten much of it lately, and suddenly Anders realized how much he missed it, like a gaping hole in his chest. It hurt.

He tried for a wobbly smile. Hawke frowned.

“Are you alright?”

Anders nodded quickly and shifted his weight awkwardly. He cleared his throat. “Just leave already. Let me get some sleep.”

“Alright.”

Hawke looked at the Wardens that hadn’t left yet, and shot a questioning glance at Anders that clearly said:  _Can we leave you alone with them?_

Anders rolled his eyes again and pointed squarely at the door. Hawke made gesture of surrender and turned around. Fenris threw Anders a brief inscrutable look and followed Hawke without a word.

Varric and Isabela said their goodbyes, the pirate yawning like a lazy cat and patting Anders’ cheek.

“Stay alive, will you? I can’t always just drop whatever or whomever I’m doing just to come to the rescue,” she drawled in a bored tone.

Anders scoffed. “Cute,” he replied dryly. “I’ll try not to get killed to avoid getting in the way of your hectic sex life.”

“Good boy. And, uh, do you know if your Warden friends would like to... pick up where we left off?” She added, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Anders’ face contorted in disgust. “Ugh! _No_! Don’t involve me in… Ugh!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and walking away from her.

Isabela threw her head back and laughed exuberantly. “Oh, you’re too easy!”

She left the clinic too, swaying her hips and winking at Alistair, who was talking to Nathaniel near the door, on her way out. The man gaped at her for a moment and then choked. Nate barely even noticed, as he was entirely too focused on Isabela’s retreating figure, his hand still in the air in the middle of some forgotten gesture.

To be honest, Anders couldn’t really blame him.

Lyna was trying to suppress a grin as she approached Anders. For a moment he dreaded she was going to say something about Isabela that he didn’t want to know, but she just crossed her arms and smiled at him.

“You have good friends here,” she said with a tense smile.

“I - I guess I do,” Anders agreed, avoiding her gaze.

He wasn’t as close to his friends as he used to, and he knew it was mostly because he had been steadily pulling away; that, and they were bored of the longer and longer rants he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out every time he was with them since his patience with their general indifference towards the mages’ cause was almost at its end. But they were also his friends, his only friends, who came to his aid and defended him - which was more he could say about any friends he’d had before...

Well, it wouldn’t matter soon enough.

Some things were more important than one man’s life.

Lyna cleared her throat. “I am sorry about before. Everything. I never thought… I didn’t think you blamed me for what happened when you left.”

Anders rubbed his tired face, willing the headache away. “Look, I-...” He trailed off. He didn’t really know how to finish the sentence.

Maker’s breath, he was exhausted.

“It’s alright. I understand,” Lyna said. “Trust was never easy for you,”

Anders snorted humorlessly. He had forgotten that particular nerve-wracking habit of hers to point out things that were both insightful and highly uncomfortable. “Yes, I suppose that’s true”, he admitted, too tired to pretend otherwise.

“Do you believe me? Or do you need time to think?”

Anders frowned. “I don’t really know. I think I believe you, but still…”

“We can talk further. Take your time,” Lyna told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

It wasn’t the same as Hawke, she never had been. She was too careful, too controlled, too reserved. Too quiet, easy to miss in a crowd, more than a little dull at first. It was always hard to know what she was thinking or how she would react, she gave too little away. She was always ready to pull away, always slow to trust. In this, she could not be more different from Hawke, who flirted and smiled to everybody, who filled every room he entered, who charmed the entire world and attracted people like moths to a flame and to whom leading came as easily as breathing.

And yet, Lyna was always ready to give second chances to the strangers people, as she had with Anders and all the others she’d recruited along with him; their little band of misfits that made the other Wardens shake their heads in wonder and disapproval. She was the one who insisted on helping every member of her team. She was slow to trust, but when she did Lyna didn’t hesitate to kill a templar to keep her from taking Anders back. She was reserved, but as soon as they found something to bond over she could ramble for hours; when she opened up she became witty and warm. And in this she wasn't so completely different from Hawke.

But Anders had never loved her, he was sure of that now with the added perspective of the years past. Not like he loved Hawke at least, which was sudden and easy and clear as day; one of the few things he was still certain of nowadays.

His affection for Lyna was two parts admiration and one part grudging gratitude, with a small side of envy at her accomplishments despite being so much younger than him and also frustration at how difficult it was to figure her out. She was fascinating and off-putting.

She had simply been the first person to actually believe in him enough to give him a chance, the one who broke him free of the Circle. She had been completely unexpected in many ways, good and bad, and kept throwing Anders off balance.

And that constant feeling of drowning, of uncertainty that he got around her had never been love.

It was a comforting thing to know, at least: that he hadn’t loved her and she hadn’t betrayed him. That they had been friends, once.

Anders smiled at her. “Where are you staying?”

Lyna frowned. “Can’t remember the name. Somewhere in Lowtown.”

“Not the Hanged Man, right?” Anders asked, a thought suddenly taking form.

“I don’t think so,” Lyna shrugged. “Something about Fereldan Flying Dogs.”

"Yeah, I know the place. Look, could I meet you there before you go to Hawke’s?” He asked almost urgently.

Lyna frowned and studied his face. “Sure. But why?”

"I think I should talk to you about Merrill. And Hawke." Anders sighed and looked down to his hands. "I didn't know about your clan, I'm sorry."

She gave him a long, hard look. "You didn’t?"

"No. They hadn't told me a single word of it, I swear it on Nathaniel's sense of self-righteousness" Anders vowed solemnly. Lyna snorted and shook her head.

"I know you weren't there," she said sitting beside him. "Hawke was with Merrill, the dwarf and the white haired elf."

Anders stared at her. "You knew? Of course you did." He frowned. “But how did you know it was Merrill’s fault? Are you sure about that?”

“I… had my suspicions. And the Champion – Hawke - confirmed them,” Lyna admitted with a humorless smirk. “I knew why Merrill was cast out; Keeper Marethari told me the last time I was here.”

"As for the others, Nate asked around in the time it took us to get here," Lyna glanced at the man. "There were rumors about the clan being…“ Her voice faltered. “That's how he first found out. He sent us a letter and talked to the guards to figure who had left the city that day with the _Champion_ ," she added, voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

Anders looked at his hands. "Hawke is a good man," he muttered. "Whatever he did, he did to protect his friend."

Lyna stood up abruptly and for a moment Anders thought she was going to yell at him, but she simply took a few steps away from him. She looked up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.

"Then perhaps he shouldn't have protected her,” Lyna muttered in a distant voice.

Anders thought of arguing, but he decided he didn't have the energy for it or even knew what he would like to say. He couldn't just look the other way on Merrill's use of blood magic as Hawke did. He couldn't afford to, since it was the main argument held against the mages freedom.

But that wasn't a concern for Garrett, or at least one big enough to stop him from being associated with her or even convincing her to stop using it. And as much as Anders disapproved, he did admire Hawke's ability at seeing the better in people like Merrill or himself. And especially he admired Hawke's loyalty to his people.

"Perhaps," he agreed in the end.

Alistair had approached them, followed by Nate. “Everything alright?” He asked Lyna, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

Anders couldn’t help averting his eyes. He might have decided he hadn’t loved her, but that didn’t stop a surge of bitterness from filling his mouth. Although he suspected it wasn’t about her, perhaps it was _them_ , the fact that they were so obviously happy and in love that he was jealous of.

Anders figured he was more lonely and pathetic than he had previously thought.

Lyna sighed tiredly. “Yes. Feeling better?”

“Definitely. Strong as a bull! Now can we please go before I pass out in a corner? That would be less than impressive,” Alistair said with a smirk. Lyna huffed out a laugh.

Alistair sent Anders a playful look and the mage shook his head and couldn’t help to smile. He begrudgingly admitted that, even if the other man had been a templar, he also seemed genuinely... agreeable. And a little irritating.

“Lyrium withdrawal can be unpleasant,” Anders said casually.

And no, that was not him being petty. It was _not_.

Alistair frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, so I hear. But I’ve never had withdrawal before. I’m not even sure that’s what it was.”

Anders’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t take lyrium?”

“No, I - I did,” Alistair admitted, scratching his neck. “Only a few times, during training, but I have never gotten withdrawal.”

Anders stood up and watched Alastair more closely. The other man seemed a little nervous under the scrutiny.

“That’s all? Haven’t you taken any lyrium since?” Anders asked, curious despite himself.

It was wise to know one's enemies, he guessed. And the more he knew about templars and their abilities, the better.

“For years I didn’t need to,” Alistair replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “But eventually I had to, to keep using my abilities. They are very useful, I’m sorry to say.” He paused, visibly uncomfortable. “But, you know - maybe a glass at Satinalia? It does give me a nasty hangover, so I try to keep it down,” Alistair added with a nervous smirk.

“Really? Most templars I know can’t go a full day without lyrium,” Anders remarked snidely, scratching his chin.

“Well, I have a very _short_ but very _powerful_ reason to be careful about it,” Alistair grinned before Lyna elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. “Ouch! Right, sorry, a _very average height_ reason. Not short at all. Not even for an elf.”

Lyna hit him again, on the chest this time. Alistair yelped but it didn’t stop his snickering.

“Yeah, keep that up, _shem_ ,” Lyna grumbled without any real bite. “See if I kill any other archdemons for you.”

“Pfff!” Alistair waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s getting old, you know? You _don’t_ scare me,” he added, tousling her hair.

Lyna grabbed the offending arm and yanked at it and soon both Wardens and former saviors of Ferelden were roughhousing like a pair of children.

Nate rubbed his nose and shook his head seemingly in despair, though it was obvious he was getting embarrassed.

“What’s the matter Nate, still appalled by people disrespecting the Commander?” Anders teased over his shoulder in his way to his cabinets. “I thought you’d have fainted by now, back in the day.”

“I never - I don’t - I do not _faint_!” Nate sputtered indignantly, his cheeks flushing. Lyna and Alistair exchanged a look before both burst out giggling.  “And that’s - that’s not true.”

Anders snickered a bit as well. He found the flask he was looking for and returned by the other’s side where Nathaniel was doing his best (and failing) to look dignified. Alistair was clutching his side where Lyna had hit him, still grinning.

“Ah, so it’s just the public displays of affection, then?” Anders wondered out loud a bit mischievously. Nate puffed and glared at him, but did not reply. “Most people consider those normal, you know?” Anders turned to Alistair and handed him the flask. “Here, take this before sleeping. Two drops. Should help with the withdrawal symptoms.”

Alistair hesitated before taking it. “Ah… It doesn’t actually have lyrium in it, does it?” He peered into the small glass container.

“No. None at all. But it will make you drowsy,” Anders warned, falling into his healer voice. “It should stop the muscle pain and the nausea, if you have any.”

“Well, thank you then. Especially after, er, all of this,” Alistair pointed vaguely all around them. “And, oh, how much do you usually charge for this?”

Anders waved a hand. “I don’t usually charge. I mostly take care of those too poor to pay for any kind of help,” he said with a touch a pride.

“But…” Alistair protested.

“Also I did attack you first, so…” Anders pointed out with a shrug.

“Well, when you put it like that.” Alistair grinned. “Thank you.”

Anders sighed internally. The man made it really hard to dislike him. He appeared to be too nice for his own good, and yet not entirely naïve. It would be irritating if it weren’t for the fact that he seemed completely earnest.

Lyna took out her own purse and handed three gold sovereigns to Anders without a word.

“No, really, I mean it,” Anders insisted, getting a little uncomfortable now. He tried crossing his arms, but Lyna huffed before taking his hand and closing it around the coins.

“For your clinic,” she said pointedly, her grip on his hand tightening before letting go. “And thank you.” Anders nodded wordlessly, his throat suddenly a little tight. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes.”

“Should we help you, uh, barricade that door or something?” Nate wondered, pointing at the now gaping hole in the wall where Hawke had made his entrance.

Anders sighed dejectedly. “I’d appreciate it. I’ll charge Hawke for it tomorrow.”

The four of them moved to where the door had landed, several feet from its original position.

“ _Will_ he pay for it?” Nate asked dubiously as he and Lyna crouched down to pick the door up.

“He better! He blew it up,” Anders replied, miffed. “And that’s what he does, anyway.”

“Pay for things?” Alistair asked. He was trying to help carry the door, but then Lyna batted him away. He crossed his arms resignedly and let her and Nathaniel fix the door by themselves.

“Yes. And not just what he breaks, which is plenty; the man is a walking calamity,” Anders said with fond annoyance. “He pays for his friends rents, sometimes. He has kept this place from closing more times than I care to remember. I honestly have no idea how he hasn’t lost it all by now.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” Alistair muttered gently.

Anders followed the Warden’s gaze to Lyna’s back as she argued with Nathaniel about how to best hold the broken door in its place.

“He is,” Anders agreed, looking at his feet. “He really is. Sometimes a little too loyal, though.”

Alistair hummed, considering the mage’s words. “I’m not sure anyone can be _too_ loyal,” he mused. “But one can perhaps be too forgiving of one’s friends’ faults.”

Anders looked up in surprise.

Alistair glanced back at him and shrugged. “That’s my take, at least,” he offered simply.

Anders stared at him for a moment longer, smirking to himself before looking away. Perhaps the ex-templar wasn’t as thick as he liked to pretend. It was not Anders’ way but he could appreciate it.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Anders was finally falling asleep that he noticed he hadn’t felt Justice’s presence at all since getting knocked out. He sat up, uneasiness blooming inside his chest and tried to conjure a fireball. He still couldn’t do magic.

Anders stared at his hand, not sure of how he felt about this. Mostly defenseless, he guessed. He could not wait until the magebane effect vanished.

Despite his anxiety, when he laid back down sleep found him quickly. And it was his most restful night in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A phrase and some information taken from Anders' short story as posted [here](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Anders_\(short_story\)).
> 
> I may have digressed from the original point because I got excited about the people and their interactions. Will go back to the heavy and angsty stuff in the second chapter.
> 
> Basically this is a consequence of two things: 1. Having a Dalish Warden in DAO, and 2. Totally accidentally killing hers and Merrill's entire clan during the Act 3 of DA2 and feeling honestly guilty about it. Later I started developing feelings for Anders and boom! Here we are.
> 
> In case you wondered, some unimportant comments and canon divergences are related to an as yet unpublished series called (for the moment) Atlas. Those are: 
> 
> 1) Alistair and the Warden not sleeping with Isabela, but still reacting to it: I headcanon Alistair as demisexual, and as such I can't believe he would have agreed to a threesome, hardened or not. Not so early in his relationship with the Warden, at least. So, as I envision it, he agreed to it and backed down at the last minute with a small freak out. Hence, the mortification at the memory. 
> 
> 2) Doing the Dark Ritual was a very difficult thing for Alistair, because of the above-mentioned reason. Not a pleasant memory in the slightest.
> 
> BTW, even if he wasn't romanced Hawke still gave Anders a key to the passage that leads to his house. Humorous, enabler, good!friend Hawke would totally do this.


End file.
